


Seeking Arrangement

by vvenhedis



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: AU that no one asked for, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, College Student! Rhys, Jack's still CEO of Hyperion, M/M, Online Dating, Rhys is Desperate (tm), Sugar Baby! Rhys, Sugar Daddy to Actual Boyfriend, Sugar Daddy! Jack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-16 00:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13625034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvenhedis/pseuds/vvenhedis
Summary: In which Rhys joins a Sugar Daddy dating website and Jack becomes a permanent fixture in his life because of it.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting fanfiction in YEARS, and of course it's a dumb Sugar Daddy! AU.
> 
> I plan to update weekly. Chapter 2 may be coming sooner just to get the ball rolling.
> 
> Note: Jack goes by John on the website just to like, hide his identity. So yes, that's Jack. Also the website they're using is completely fictional, even though my fic is named after a real website that exists.
> 
> Special Thanks:  
> Ketchup_Stains for being my (sorta) beta reader -- mistakes may still be present.  
> sheriff.of.lynchwood (Instagram Handle) for giving it a read before my actual posting of this!!

_Oh god_ , was Rhys’s first thought, _am I really doing this?_

His computer cursor hovered over the ‘create account’ button, and it was then that Rhys realized that the the answer was: _yes, you’re really doing this._

It was sort of thing that happened to broke college students who didn’t want to get a conventional job-- they looked for a sugar daddy, naturally. 

Rhys hesitated, staring blankly at his computer screen and wondering if he’d really stooped so low. He didn’t really need a sugar daddy, did he? And the answer to that question was definitely a yes, if his rapidly declining checking account had any say in the matter.

So, with something like a dejected sigh, Rhys made the account, and in turn officially declared himself a _sugar baby_ looking for his _sugar daddy._

And if anything, at least Rhys had some faith in himself. He could be eye candy if he really needed to-- slim build, long legs, trendy tattoos, heterochromatic eyes, and an okay fashion sense that could, easily, be corrected given some extra spending money. The only downfall was his clunky, outdated cybernetic prosthetic arm that ran from his right shoulder down-- but, hey, it wasn’t anything he couldn’t hide underneath some long sleeves (preferably also expensive). 

With any luck, he’d have at least some interest by the end of the week. Yeah, Rhys could definitely do this.

 

...

“You did _what?_ ” 

So… maybe Rhys shouldn’t have told Vaughn? 

“ _Rhys!_ ”

Rhys stared at his best friend and roommate and for the first time since creating the account, he felt kind of… _ashamed?_ His face was turning a bright shade of red, but dammit, he’d hold his ground. So what if he was looking for a sugar daddy? There was absolutely nothing wrong with that, Rhys decided, and he refused to be ashamed of it -- as long as he didn’t have to sleep with anyone he was basically doing a job like any other student at Pandora State University. 

“What?” Rhys replied defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. And then he huffed,, like actually pouted, because Vaughn was being ridiculous-- standing across from Rhys in the kitchen and shooting him an incredulous look. “There’s nothing wrong with it, bro!”

“Yvette,” Vaughn said exasperatedly, roughly calling the attention of the pair’s third roommate and Rhys’s second best friend. “Please tell me you’re hearing this.”

Yvette, who was seated on their ugly, second-hand couch located just feet from the kitchen, looked up from her textbook, and arched a single, curious brow before simply replying: “I think it’s fine. In fact, I think it’s not a bad idea.”

That made Rhys feel a little better, but Vaughn’s mouth dropped open, forming almost a perfect ‘O’. Rhys frowned, because come on, it wasn’t the worst thing he could be doing to score some extra cash-- he could be dealing drugs, selling his organs on the black market, _anything_. 

“I can’t believe you two,” Vaughn muttered, throwing his hands frustratedly into the air. 

“Hey,” Rhys stuttered, trying to gain any control over the situation. “I mean, if it helps, I can’t really believe myself, either.” The words came out in a breathy, awkward laugh and Rhys fidgeted uncomfortably. He wasn’t asking his best friend for permission-- just a little support.

“You’re crazy, bro.” 

_Well, yeah_ , tell Rhys something he doesn’t know. 

He opened his mouth to respond, but Vaughn was already leaving the kitchen (an entire box of Cheez-Its in hand) and honestly, Rhys didn’t have the energy to argue with him right now. He scrunched his nose and sulked into the living room, instead, throwing himself opposite of Yvette on their mildly disgusting couch (one that would definitely be replaced as soon as any of them had enough money to do so).

“He’ll come around,” Yvette finally spoke, looking up from whatever subject textbook she had been reading. She switched majors left and right, even Rhys had no idea what she was studying at any given moment (last he heard it had been business, or was it marketing?) 

“You think?” Rhys really doubted it, but Yvette shot him that _look_ \-- the one she’d given him when he and Vaughn had been at odds about Rhys’s tattoos, which could be, arguably, another one of Rhys’s very bad-good ideas (they turned out fine, so in the end it didn’t matter that they’d been done in some sketchy basement by his adopted sister’s boyfriend who definitely wasn’t a certified tattoo artist, but even then Vaughn hadn’t let it go for months). 

“You know Vaughn,” Yvette countered, leaning forward to toss her textbook on their equally disgusting coffee table (also added to the ‘things-they’ll-buy-when-they’re-rich’ list). “He’s just… straight-edge.” 

Which, well, she wasn’t wrong. Vaughn just had a different, more _traditional_ way of doing things, Rhys supposed. Like, a ‘why-not-get-a-real-job’ way and not a ‘find-a-reasonably-older-rich-man-to-buy-me-things’ way. Rhys just needed to show him that this whole ‘sugar daddy’ thing wasn’t all that bad, but that meant finding an actual sugar daddy and, well, that was easier said than done.

“Yeah, I guess,” Rhys mumbled, fishing his phone from his pocket and idly pulling up the app for the website that he had downloaded onto his phone.

His account was still exceptionally bland, with just his name, age, and occupation. (Rhys, 22, and college student). No pictures (still hadn’t gotten the nerve to post any) and no bio (what could he say that was alluring and not totally cringy?) 

So, yeah, this sugar daddy thing was going great. 

He was still mentally hitting himself when Yvette peeked over.

“Can I take a look?” she asked, simply.

Rhys contemplated saying ‘no’. He also contemplated deleting his account, the app, and his entire existence because he was going to die a poor, broken, alone man. But in the end he decided he was being ridiculous, and handed Yvette his phone.

“It’s…” Rhys began, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s not done yet.”

“Well, I can see that,” Yvette responded, scrolling quickly through his bland, boring profile. 

“ _Sorry_ ,” he replied incredulously. “It’s not like I’ve ever done this before, you know.”

But Yvette only laughed at him before she began tapping at his screen.

“W-what are you doing?”

Silence.

“ _Yvette._ ”

“Calm down,” she finally answered. “I’m just looking through your pictures. Nobody wants a _sugar baby_ with no face. Trust me.”

Rhys internally groaned.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“What? _Sugar baby?_ ”

He buried his (furiously blushing) face in his hands, and he could’ve sworn that Yvette was laughing at him. So, yeah, he was definitely going to delete his account and profusely apologize to Vaughn and--

Yvette shoved his phone back into his hands.

“How’s that look?”

Rhys was almost too afraid to look, worried that Yvette had sought out the most hideous, unpleasing images of him (there were a lot, thank Snapchat filters) to shove on his account. But as his eyes glanced down at the screen, he was… shocked, to say the least. Like, he flipped through the images Yvette had added, and he looked _good_.

It went like this:

Smiling slyly at the camera, his heterochromatic eyes expressing the subtle excitement he had been feeling when the picture was snapped: the day he had moved home for the summer. It was a headshot, the perfect profile picture. 

And the next, more alluring. He was staring off-camera, at someone or something (he couldn’t remember). His expression was pensive and curious, and he was wearing a dark shirt. One with a collar that dipped down and showed off just the edge of his blue tattoo, the one that ran down his chest and ribcage. 

The last? Him at a distant friend’s wedding, a photo captured by the wedding photographer that Rhys had later saved to his phone because, well, he looked good. It was almost full body, and he was dressed in a well-fitted, black suit. He was looking to his right, smiling. The photo highlighted his long legs as well as his prosthetic limb that was partially tucked in his pant pocket (which didn’t look as visually striking, unfortunately).

“ _See,_ ” Yvette commented, nudging Rhys playfully with her shoulder. 

Rhys rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, okay, it looks good,” he said, but quickly tacked on a, “I guess.”

He had to keep Yvette humble, after all. 

“You _guess?_ ” Now it was Yvette’s turn to roll her eyes. It didn’t matter what Rhys had said, anyway, though. She knew that she had done a pretty good job, and that was all that mattered.

“Okay, _fine_ ,” Rhys huffed. “It looks great, like really great. Still doesn’t fix my missing bio situation, though.”

Yvette just shook her head before snatching Rhys’s phone from his hands-- again. But even she seemed lost for words, her thumbs hovering over the phone’s keyboard as she, at least Rhys assumed, racked her brain for some witty, alluring bio. 

Nothing. She quickly returned the phone, as if to say: _you’re on your own with this one, buddy._

Now it was Rhys’s turn to stare at his phone screen dumbly, wondering what in the hell do aspiring sugar babies write on their profile? At least there was a single, prompting question floating in the (currently empty) text box. It read: _what are you looking for?_ And if Rhys was being honest, he had absolutely no idea. He’d never done this before. What do sugar babies look for? A sugar daddy, obviously. Is that what it wanted him to say?

Frustratedly, he sarcastically answered the phantom text with a dumb: ‘I don’t know’ and left it at that. 

Besides him, Yvette had returned to skimming her textbook, and Rhys stood, deciding it best not to bother her anymore. He could take it from here-- kind of, maybe. 

“Goodnight,” he mumbled, noting the late time on his phone, as he turned to pass her.

“Good luck,” came Yvette’s response.

 

...

Rhys’s alarm woke him up, all loud, blaring, and annoying. God, he really didn’t have the patience to sit through a three hour robotics lecture-- not enough coffee in the world would prepare him for that torture. 

Blindly, he reached for his phone, just to end the screeching that was blasting from it’s speakers. And just after hitting the ‘stop alarm’ button, Rhys was hit with a whole other problem that wasn’t his impending robotics lecture, instead it was seventeen new notifications, and all of them from the app. 

_Seventeen_ notifications. As in, seventeen messages, from actual, real-life sugar daddies. And, _holy shit_ , Rhys wasn’t sure what exactly he had been expecting but it definitely wasn’t seventeen new messages, all from potential sugar daddies who had, apparently, liked what they had seen.

He unlocked his phone quickly, opened the app, and stared blankly at the flurry of messages. Most of them were several variations of ‘hey, gorgeous’ and ‘pretty eyes’, and god, Rhys could feel himself blushing. 

He was out of bed in just seconds, sprinting blindly to Yvette’s (still closed) bedroom door.

“ _Yvette!_ ” Rhys nearly yelled, pounding against the door as softly as he could (the last thing he needed was Vaughn wandering out and criticizing him, again, for his questionable life decisions). “Yvette, _holy shit_ , you won’t believe this-- please, open up!”

There were some muffled noises coming from behind her door-- what sounded like covers being lazily pushed aside and the creaking of her bed as she, assumably, ambled out of it. And then the door opened, Yvette pearing tiredly through the crack as Rhys stared back at her, big dumb smile and all. 

“What is it, Rhys?” She asked, her entire being still groggy. For a split second, Rhys felt kind of bad for waking her up, but in his defense, she had class today too. She would’ve been getting up soon, anyway. 

Rhys shoved his phone in her face, proudly displaying all seventeen notifications.

“I got seventeen messages, Yvette,” he said. “ _Seventeen._ ”

That seemed to get at least some of Yvette’s attention, and she grabbed his phone, scrolling through the messages to read the limited summaries. 

“Wow,” Yvette mouthed, before looking up and handing the phone back to Rhys. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Rhys rolled his eyes but smiled appreciatively, accepting the device back from Yvette.

“So, what are you going to do?” Yvette asked, opening her door wider and leaning against her door frame. “I mean, who are you going to reply to? It’s not like you can have seventeen sugar daddies.”

That was… a good question.

“I don’t know,” Rhys replied, dumbly. Honestly, he hadn’t foreseen himself getting any messages. If anything, he had expected to get no responses, forget about the account, and maybe laugh about it later. So yeah, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Who do you think I should reply to?”

“Someone rich,” was her deadpanned response, and Rhys frowned because obviously. 

“Look,” she quickly added, noticing that Rhys had been serious. “Just… look through the messages and reply to whoever catches your interest, okay? That’s reasonable, right?”

Rhys nodded slowly, because, yeah, Yvette was right. There was no way he’d be able to keep up with seventeen different conversations otherwise. He definitely had some narrowing down to do. 

“Alright,” Yvette said, recapturing Rhys’s attention and pushing away from the doorframe. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for class. Good luck with,” she motioned to his phone, “ _whatever_ you’re going to do. You definitely owe me lunch, by the way, as thanks for helping you score seventeen potential sugar daddies.” 

Rhys scoffed, but obliged, because yeah, she had picked out the pictures. And they had been the right choice, apparently, if the seventeen notifications sitting on his phone screen had any say in the matter. 

“Yeah, okay, sure,” Rhys said, giving into Yvette’s scheming, before backing away from her door. He had a class to get ready for too, unfortunately.

Ambling back to his room, Rhys had sworn he had heard Vaughn’s door softly click shut as he passed his room, so, yeah, he’d definitely have to deal with that later-- way later, because Rhys was still riding his seventeen-potential-sugar-daddies high and no way he’d let Vaughn ruin the moment. 

He was finally back in his room, making the executive decision to skip breakfast just so he’d have enough time to flip through the messages he’d received overnight. Throwing himself on his unmade bed, Rhys stared excitedly into his phone screen, carefully opening each message in the order he had received it. _Someone that catches your interest_ , Rhys replayed the phrase in his head, turning it over and over as he stared at the variations of: “Hello [insert sweet, overused pet name here]”, “Pretty eyes”, and “Nice legs”. 

And, well, none of these were catching his interest. Sure, they were nice and, yes, Rhys was maybe blushing at all the attention, but he didn’t feel compelled to reply to any of them. Fifteen messages in, and he still hadn’t been sold-- not by Wilhelm, who said he had a good face (whatever that meant), not by Marcus, who (weirdly) complemented his bone structure, and definitely not by _Sir Alistair Hammerlock_ , who spoke to Rhys as if he were royalty and looked like royalty (but, like, not in a hot way). 

Number sixteen was the type of message he had been afraid of receiving when he made the account; the basic, ‘send nudes’ except with a $300 cash bonus and a ‘sweetheart’ thrown in. 

He was getting ready to throw in the towel and respond to one of the generic ‘pretty eyes’ messages, when number seventeen caught his eye. It had been sent an hour ago, by a _John_ , and was the last on the list. He opened it.

> **John:**
> 
> _Nice arm, pumpkin. Where’d you get it?_

So, first of all, _pumpkin_ was new. Rhys wasn’t sure if he liked it, but it was new. Second of all, this _John_ had complimented his arm-- his _arm_ , of all things. Not his eyes, face, bone structure, or legs-- no, it had to be his weird, clunky cybernetic arm that sometimes creaked at the elbow joint. Third of all, he didn’t have a profile picture, which was definitely questionable, but he had intrigued Rhys nonetheless. _Someone who catches your interest_ , Yvette’s words repeated themself like a mantra. 

His profile, unfortunately, wasn’t any more informative. It was pretty much blank, save for name (John), age (38), and occupation (‘wouldn’t you like to know’). No bio (which, hey, was better than Rhys’s ‘I don’t know’).

What was the harm, messaging a faceless John who had caught his interest. If it didn’t go anywhere, at least he had fifteen (excluding the proposition for nudes) messages to fall back on, and he was sure more would find his way to his inbox.

Suddenly, his phone’s alarm went off again in his hands, signifying that it really was time for him to get ready for his robotics lecture. Hurriedly, he replied:

> **Rhys:**
> 
> _You like my arm?_

Maybe it wasn’t the most alluring or witty message, but Rhys really needed to get moving, so he kept it simple-- to the point and at least it warranted a response, right? It didn’t matter, anyway.

He jumped up, discarded his phone on his bed, rushed to the bathroom to get ready, and prayed he'd have the energy and strength to make it through his robotics lecture.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insight on Rhys's arm. Yvette gets 'hangry'. Rhys feeds Vaughn fries. Rhys and John come to an arrangement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, Chapter Two a little bit sooner!
> 
> From here on out I'll try to update every Monday-- give or take a few days as I try to work around my own weird college schedule!
> 
> Thanks to everyone so far for the supportive comments!! I enjoy hearing all the feedback. I hope you like this next chapter!
> 
> Specials Thanks:  
> Ketchup_Stains - for being a very supportive friend as I get back into writing fanfiction!
> 
> I apologize now for grammatical errors, etc. I don't have a real solid beta reader, but I'm working with what I have for the moment!

When Rhys was sixteen years old, he lost his right arm. 

There had been a pretty bad car accident, one that took almost everything from him. Point was, he didn’t like talking about it. With anyone. _Ever_.

For the two years following the accident, Rhys learned to live without a right arm. He learned to deal with the staring, and the ogling, and the questions that poured from the mouths of loose-lipped little kids. Questions like: _‘How’d you lose it?’_ and _‘Why don’t you have an arm?’_.

And while Rhys became used to it, it didn’t mean he was okay with it. 

Then, at eighteen, everything changed. Hyperion, a robotics company that Rhys had only heard little about, was doing some experimental testing for their newest project: cybernetic limbs. They were, in theory, supposed to provide the same mobility as any organic limb and they were looking for volunteers. 

Rhys, having nothing to lose (literally), signed up. 

And, it worked. The operation and transition had been seamless, much to the surprise of the development team who had warned Rhys _multiple_ times that something could go wrong. Rhys _finally_ had his right arm back, and while he was still considerably self conscious about it, he could at least live his life with some degree of normalcy. 

From that day forward, Rhys was determined to someday work for Hyperion. He wanted to help people like himself-- people who just wanted to get on with their lives and not be defined by a whether or not that had all their appendages. 

_But_ he’d be willing to throw all of that away if that meant he could walk out of Professor Nakayama’s boring lecture _right now_. 

Okay, _no_ , he wouldn’t, but _god_ , what he wouldn’t give for Nakayama to just _stop talking_. 

Rhys was tired and bored and dangerously close to falling asleep. His phone buzzed impatiently in his pocket, and across the room Hugo Vasquez (the literal _worst_ , Rhys had decided) clicked his pen _repeatedly_ on his desk. And _finally_ , as if God himself had been looking out for Rhys, Professor Nakayama dismissed the class.

Rhys was the first one out of the room. 

He was effectively a walking zombie, ambling out of the lecture hall and asking himself why the _hell_ he had chose messaging John over his morning cup of coffee (honestly, he didn’t even have the answer to that question). But, speaking of John…

Rhys wrangled his phone out of his pocket, and flipped through the notifications that he’d accumulated during the three hour lecture on… _whatever_ Nakayama had been talking about (he’d just get the notes from a classmate later). 

There were three text messages from Yvette, each one reading:

> _“hey sugar baby, how are the sugar daddies? are you rich yet?”_
> 
> _“speaking of sugar daddies, you owe me lunch. today? noon? food court?”_
> 
> _“rhysssssss. reply pls. im hungry :(”_

Though, Rhys didn’t appreciate being called sugar baby, he did owe Yvette lunch. He replied with a quick, _‘sure, omw’_ , only to get an immediate response of, _‘good. hurry up. vaughns here btw’_. 

Fun. Hopefully his best bro was over the whole ‘Rhys-finding-a-sugar-daddy’ thing, but also it was Vaughn (who was _still_ a little upset over Rhys’s not-so-legal- tattoos), so Rhys didn’t have high hopes. Maybe Vaughn would surprise him (god, he hoped Vaughn surprised him). 

But yet, there had been nothing from John. 

Rhys was just about to pocket his phone when it buzzed again. He looked at the screen, careful to be wary of his surroundings as he walked towards their campus food court. _Speak of the devil_. He had replied. 

Unlocking his phone quickly, Rhys (a little too eagerly) opened the app and inbox, anxious to read the reply to his less-than-elegant message that he’d sent earlier.

> **John:**  
>  _Yeah, duh. Do you know how to read, babe? You still didn’t answer my question._

Rhys blushed. He wasn’t sure if it was out of embarrassment for not answering John’s question and then, subsequently, being called out for it or out of the fact that John actually thought Rhys’s cybernetic limb was attractive. It was always a sore subject for Rhys (and definitely a source of some uncomfortable self-consciousness), but as long as John’s questions didn’t divulge into why he got the arm, Rhys would be good-- okay with wherever their conversation went. 

> **Rhys:**  
>  _Oh! Sorry. It’s manufactured by Hyperion-- one of their prototypes... or something like that. I don’t know, I got it a few years ago._

_Send._

And then… Rhys nearly ran into a fellow student. He startled, dragging his gaze away from his phone and immediately pocketing it in shame at the judgemental gaze of the person he’d almost run over (which was.. definitely _fair_ , he guessed). 

His phone buzzed again, but Rhys (with every bit of self control he had) refrained from reaching into his pocket to retrieve it-- he couldn’t risk any more hit-and-runs. Instead, he picked up the pace, walking as fast as he could towards the campus food court.

 

…

 

They called it _The Hub_ , and as Rhys entered it Yvette looked more than a little upset.

He guessed that he’d arrived later than anticipated.

Her and Vaughn were seated at their usual table (a small table in the corner, by the potted plants and decorative trees that grew under the glass-paned ceiling) and even if Vaughn was still upset with him (Rhys couldn’t tell) he still had the courtesy to make eye contact with Rhys, discreetly motion to Yvette, and make a mean, growly face.

Aka, their universal signal for: _Yvette is hangry._ (Yes, hungry and angry, all of which Yvette was-- very often). 

So, food first. Table later. 

He was just glad that he knew what Yvette liked to eat. 

The line today was particularly time-consuming to get through, the student workers behind the counter looking more frazzled than usual. Minutes passed, and Rhys began to fear for Vaughn’s life. When Yvette was hungry she got nasty, and Rhys and Vaughn had made a pact to keep her well-fed at all cost. 

No matter what it took -- midnight trips to McDonald’s, late-night Domino delivery, _anything_.

Rhys didn’t dare glance back at their table, but he could almost feel Vaughn’s stare bearing into the back of his head, just _begging_ for him to hurry up. He was bolder than most, braving Yvette at her worst, and for that Rhys silently commended him.

(However, it didn’t matter that Rhys took slightly longer than usual to order, asking faux questions about the menu and ingredients and if he could get _extra_ cheesy fries instead of the _regular_ cheesy fries. It also didn’t matter that he had decided to pay in cash, count out his coins, and hand them over to the cashier slowly. If anyone asked, it wasn’t to _spite_ Vaughn, but it definitely was to spite Vaughn. He deserved a little _something_ for being so weird to Rhys about the sugar daddy thing, and that little _something_ was an angry Yvette.)

Returning with a tray full of food, Rhys was met with a more than peeved Yvette and a downright terrified Vaughn-- like, sat as far away from Yvette as possible (okay, so stalling had _definitely_ been worth it). 

“What took you so long?” Yvette snapped, her arms were folded over her chest and she was pouting. 

“You know,” Rhys started, contemplating Vaughn carefully before continuing. “The _thing_.”

Yvette just rolled her eyes, prepared to say something equally as aggressive before Rhys shut her up by sliding her favorite garden salad in front of her-- extra croutons. Opening her mouth again, Rhys followed it up with a side of french fries and a glass of pink lemonade. It was a surefire way to just get Yvette to _shut up_. And, sure enough, she decided that she had nothing else to say and dug in. 

Rhys, finally able to sit down, picked at his own _extra_ cheesy fries. Vaughn, across from him, had nothing. So, as a sign of good faith, Rhys slid the tray over-- fries and all.

“Want some, bro?” Rhys asked, motioning to the delectable goodness that was The Hub’s cheesy fries. “No way I’ll be able to eat them all.” 

Vaughn hesitated, his gaze jumping between Rhys and the fries before he gave in, reaching for the fries and saying a quick, “thanks”. 

For a while, the trio ate in silence. It was kind of like their ritual. They’d eat (Yvette wouldn’t talk otherwise, she was always too busy stuffing fries in her mouth), and afterwards, once their plates were mostly empty, at least one of them would start the conversation and it’d go from there until they grew bored of just sitting in The Hub. 

It was a comfortable routine. Rhys always liked it, being comfortable enough to just sit around Yvette and Vaughn and not actually have to do or say anything. 

So Rhys poked at his phone screen, which he’d removed from his pocket and set on the table. Yvette ate a particularly loud crouton, and Rhys contemplated reading John’s new message while sat in front of Vaughn. 

But in the end, Rhys remembered that he didn’t really care what Vaughn thought, so he did it anyway.

> **John:**  
>  _Good. I wouldn’t trust any other company with you, cupcake._

He wasn’t sure what to do with that. Honestly, Rhys wasn’t sure what to do with anything. Was this how conversations with potential sugar daddies usually went? Because, yeah, conversations about cybernetic limbs and their companies were just invigorating. Yes, very alluring and sexy and just screaming ‘use-me-as-eye-candy-and-pay-me-afterwards-please’. 

> **Rhys:**  
>  _Thank you?_

“So, Rhys.” Rhys’s gaze snapped up from his phone and settled on Yvette who had seemed to finish eating. Vaughn looked up too.

“Yes…?” Rhys replied, his eyebrows knitting together as he watched Yvette’s expression carefully. On the table his phone buzzed. He stuffed it in his lap, and under the table.

“How’re the sugar daddies?” She poked at her dwindling salad-- no more croutons left, Rhys noted in an attempt to distract himself from the way Vaughn tried to catch his attention. “Have you picked one yet?”

Rhys nervously laughed, scratching at the back of his head as his phone buzzed _again_. 

“Uh,” another weird laugh. “Yeah. Kinda. Maybe.”

“Wait,” Vaughn finally interjected. “You’re _actually_ doing it?”

Rhys shrugged, and fumbled with the near empty cheesy fry container. He grabbed a soggy fry, stuffed it in his mouth, just in an effort to find _something_ to do with his hands. 

“So?” Yvette asked, ignoring Vaughn’s incredulous comment. “Tell me about him. Is he rich? Is he _hot?_ ”

Rhys could feel his face burning, and not in the cute way, no, it was in white, hot embarrassment. His gaze jumped between Yvette and Vaughn.

“U-uh, I don’t… know,” Rhys mumbled, hurriedly trying to gather their trash in a bid to distract himself. He tried to hide the fact that he was also taking quick peaks at Vaughn in an attempt to gauge his best friend’s mood. 

Turned out, he didn’t have to.

“You can talk about it in front of me, you know,” Vaughn spoke idly, staring at Rhys. Rhys paused under his gaze, unsure of what to say. “You’re totally _crazy_ , but you’re still my bro, bro. I’m not going to let some sugar daddy come between us.”

Rhys took some solace in that, respecting the fact that Vaughn could have his own opinions while still, somewhat, supporting Rhys’s. At that, Rhys offered him a shy smile. Vaughn smiled back. 

“Look,” Rhys said, actually starting to gather his things for real this time. “Can we talk about this later? I have to run over to the library and get some things for class tomorrow. I’ll catch you guys tonight?”

“Okay,” Yvette sighed, fixing up her own mess. “But, _promise_ me, Rhys. I want to hear all about your sugar daddy.”

“ _Potential_ ,” Rhys emphasized. “As in a _maybe_ sugar daddy, and _fine_ , sure, whatever-- I’ll just, I’ll see you guys later, okay?” 

And with two quick goodbyes, one to Vaughn and one to Yvette, Rhys exited The Hub. He was already pulling up his inbox on his phone.

 

…

 

John had messaged him two times. Rhys was nestled in a safe, quiet corner of the library, where he could finally read the messages in peace.

> **John:**  
>  _Sorry, was I being weird? Wait. Don’t answer that-- I really don’t fricken’ care, honestly. There’s nothing wrong with being a little curious._
> 
> **John:**  
>  _So, what’s a pretty little thing like yourself looking for on a website like this?_

Rhys really wasn’t sure, honestly. He couldn’t tell John that he was a poor college student who just needed a solid source of income, could he? Was that an appropriate thing to say? Instead of answering, Rhys decided to ignore the question altogether. 

> **Rhys:**  
>  _I could ask you the same thing._

It didn’t take long for John to reply, as he seemingly appeared to be online. 

> **John:**  
>  _You could. But I’m way more interested in hearing what you have to say first._

Rhys’s fingers fumbled over the keyboard as he struggled to comprehend just where to take this. For one, he’d never done this before, so he had no idea what to say or offer or do, if he was being completely honest. For a second, he contemplated feigning confidence and giving John whatever bullshit answer Rhys could find from a Google search, but Rhys decided against it. If John wasn’t happy with Rhys’s lack of experience, he could always move on-- no hard feelings. 

> **Rhys:**  
>  _Do you want me to be honest?_
> 
> **John:**  
>  _Uh, yeah? Is that a trick question?_

Well, here went (literally) nothing. 

> **Rhys:**  
>  _No? I just… I’ve never done anything like this before. You’re the only person I messaged back, actually. So my honest answer is: I don’t know._

He was, honestly, expecting to be rejected. Rhys was surprised he had made it _this_ far. He had joined the website with no expectations, fully accepting of the fact that his account would have most likely been made, forgotten, and then eventually deleted. He, in no way, expected people to actually be _interested_. 

> **John:**  
>  _A new guy, huh? I can work with new. You’re lucky you’re so pretty._

Huh, so not rejected (and not blushing at the compliment). Rhys just had to figure out what John meant. 

> **John:**  
>  _Look, kid, I’ll give you a chance. If I’m not happy, we’ll just… go our separate ways. No hard feelings._

John was being insufferably cryptic. Or just getting ahead of himself. Or both.

>   
>  **Rhys:**  
>  _What do you want me to do?_

Rhys could see the little message bubble moving, indicating that John was on the other end, typing his response. God, what was Rhys _doing?_

> **John:**  
>  _I got this dumb work thing next week. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I’m kind of a big deal. The people I work with are freakin’ idiots, though. You should hear the shit they go on about-- god, it gives me a migraine just thinking about it. Your job, Rhysie, is to be there, look good, and give me a reason to not talk to my idiot employees. I’d make it worth your while-- suit included._

That was… not what Rhys was expecting. It was, surprisingly, simple. This John must’ve had a ton of money to just give away, especially if he was just willing to pay someone to drag him away from his _employees_ , people he could just walk away from himself. 

> **Rhys:**  
>  _Couldn’t you just… walk away from them yourself?_

Okay, he couldn’t help it. 

> **John:**  
>  _Wow, you sure ask a lot of questions, don’t you? The short answer is, yes, but if I do that then they think I don’t appreciate them and all their hard work and yada yada, you know what I mean. Look, do you want the job or not?_

Did he? Wasn’t that the reason Rhys had joined this dumb site to begin with? For money? For a _job?_ He could… he could do this. 

> **Rhys:**  
>  _Yes. I do. On one condition. ___

__  
__  


God, Rhys felt like he was dangerously close to pushing some buttons.

> __**John:**  
>  _You’re calling the shots now? I don’t think that’s how this works, pumpkin._ _ _
> 
> __**Rhys:**  
>  _Look, you’re asking me to do something for you -- over the internet -- and I don’t know anything about you. I don’t even know what you look like. How do I know you’re not some creep?__ _
> 
> __**John:**  
>  _Please. You’re not any more forthcoming, sweetheart._ _ _

__  
__

It sounded sarcastic. Rhys snorted an arched a brow at his phone screen.

> **John:**  
>  _There’s no ‘us’ without ‘trust’, babe. So, you’re just going to have to trust me. I’ll send you the deets for the thing later. In the meantime, send me all your measurements so I can get something pretty tailored up for you._

As much as Rhys wanted to remain suspicious and on-guard, John was completely right. The only difference was that Rhys had pictures where John didn’t. But something about the way John spoke… Rhys figured he’d let everything play out. There was too much money on the line _not_ to. 

> **Rhys:**  
>  _Fine. You got yourself a date._
> 
> **John:**  
>  _Perfect._

God, Yvette was _not_ going to believe this. 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys talks to his adopted sister, and then Yvette. And he (really) hopes this isn't a scam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day earlier than planned, which makes me think I should just upload every Sunday. (We'll see!)
> 
> Not too much John in this chapter, but there's PLENTY of talking about him (also I had to introduce another character that I am so excited about!!). Besides, I'll just make up for it in following chapters because things are about to get real. Honestly, just had to pump some more essential info in this chapter, and get some of the supporting characters up to speed (as well as you guys). 
> 
> Again, thank y'all so much for your supportive comments. I love every one of them.
> 
> Sorry for my typos and small grammatical errors. I try to catch them as I go through an edit/rearrange things, but some slip through the cracks. Chalk it up to the late nights I spend writing these chapters.
> 
> As always, enjoy!!

> **Rhys:**  
>  _So, John, tell me about yourself._

And that was how Rhys started his day.

Well, sleeping in had been how Rhys had started his day, but he messaged John immediately after waking up, so it basically counted. 

Or, well, okay, it didn’t matter. 

All that mattered was that Rhys was trying to get to know John: the man behind the weird, cryptic profile. All Rhys knew was that he was, in John’s words, _‘a big deal’_. Whether that meant John was actually a big deal or just suffering from an inflated ego. Rhys had no clue. 

And, yes, John had said to trust him, but it didn’t mean that Rhys wasn’t a little curious. And, again, in John’s words: _‘there’s nothing wrong with being a little curious’_.

Rhys just wanted to have some idea of who he’d be meeting next week. There was nothing wrong with that. 

Right?

Maybe he was coming off as being too attached, whatever that meant. 

Or no, he wasn’t. 

Or?

Rhys slapped his palm against his forehead in a bid to just get himself to stop thinking. He was obviously thinking too much about the entire thing, and it wasn’t doing him any good. God, he was a real mess. 

Dragging himself out of his room and into their shared living space, Rhys was determined to enjoy his day off. No boring lecture, no Professor Nakayama, no Hugo Vasquez— yes, this would be a good day. Even better once Rhys stopped over analyzing everything. 

He wasn’t surprised to find the living room empty, seeing as both Yvette and Vaughn had class Tuesday morning. And it was a welcome silence, for once. 

That was, until his cell phone started ringing, effectively breaking Rhys’s peace and quiet. 

He wasn’t as peeved, however, when he caught sight of the caller ID— _Sasha_. Rhys’s younger and more fun adopted sibling (don’t tell Fiona). 

“Sasha!” Rhys spoke into the receiver after bringing the phone to his ear. It was always nice to hear from her. While she didn’t live too far away, the two of them always seemed to be consumed by their own lives. He was in college, she was… doing other things (in and out of jobs, mostly, but, hey, at least she was enjoying her life). “Long time no… talk?” (why had he said that?) “What’ve you been up too?”

“Oh, you know,” Sasha responded, her voice cheery yet distorted as it flooded out of the speaker. “Got another job— taking calls and making appointments at some garage. I think I’ll actually keep this one! It’s owned by some dude named Scooter and I think he _really_ likes me.” 

She laughed, and for a second Rhys was concerned about the implications of a boss really liking one of his employees. 

“Oh, _relax_ ,” Sasha spoke, disrupting Rhys’s train of thought. It was like she had read his mind (even over a phone call she was still wildly perceptive). “It’s not what you’re thinking. He’s harmless, really— a little weird, but harmless.” 

“Oh,” Rhys responded with a nervous laugh. Sasha was impeccably good at losing jobs, so he wasn’t really sure why he was nervous in the first place. “Well—”

“Besides, you know how August is.” 

_August_ aka Sasha’s boyfriend and the ‘questionable’ guy Rhys had got his semi-professional tattoos from in a basement. And, _no_ , Rhys didn’t ‘know how August was’, but he’d take Sasha’s word for it. 

“He says ‘hi’, by the way.” 

Honestly, Rhys hadn’t spent much time with August (other than when he had been convinced to get two, while cool, unnecessary tattoos), but Sasha seemed to really like him. While Fiona, their older sister, had her doubts, Rhys saw nothing wrong with letting Sasha get on with her life (but if August so much as _lay_ a finger on her, Rhys wouldn’t be so eager to just watch from the sidelines). 

“Well, uh, tell him I say ‘hi’—” he hadn’t even finished his thought before Sasha was jumping to the next thing. 

“So, how’ve you been?” She asked. “I haven’t heard from you lately! We’re still on for Halloween, right?”

_Halloween— right_. It was weeks away, but Sasha was a sucker for planning ahead, and Rhys had completely forgot that he had promised Sasha and August that he’d swing by for… whatever they were planning. He wished he hadn’t promised anything. Rhys was far from being the ‘partying type’. 

As for what he’d been up to? 

Yeah, that was a _long_ story. And, no, he wouldn’t be discussing whether or not he was a potential sugar baby in the making— especially not over the phone to his sister.

“Rhys?” Sasha’s voice flooded the speaker once more, as if she thought the call had been dropped. 

“Uh, yeah— still here!” Rhys replied quickly. “And, sure, yeah, Halloween sounds…” he hesitated, “fun.” 

“Great!” Sasha sounded ecstatic. The last thing Rhys wanted to do was disappoint her. “Don’t forget to bring your friends, either! And dress up— Rhys you better dress up!” 

Wow, Halloween was quickly turning into an _event_. At least Vaughn and Yvette would be down for it, thank god. 

“Alright, _alright_ ,” Rhys countered, trying to mask his dramatically tired sigh. “I got it: costumes.” 

“Good,” Rhys could just see the smile on her face. “How’s college life treating you? Still think I should go?”

Sasha had, gracefully, skipped out on the whole ‘college thing’, as she liked to call it. Fiona and Rhys had given her at least some crap about it, but Sasha was stubborn. _‘Not everyone needs to go to college, you know’_ , she’d told them. Eventually Rhys and Fiona had gotten tired of the whole ‘get-Sasha-to-go-to-college’ thing and had abandoned the cause. 

“It’s fine,” he replied, tone even. It wasn’t great, or some mind-blowing experience that was changing his life. It was just… okay. Personally, he wouldn’t have gone at all, but if he wanted to someday work at Hyperion he’d need at least some sort of higher education. 

“Just ‘fine’?” She questioned. Rhys could picture her eyebrow arching, like it did whenever she asked an incredulous question. 

He shrugged, though Sasha couldn’t see it. 

“Yeah,” Rhys said. “It’s just lecture upon lecture, honestly. Nothing life-changing.” 

“No cute boys to stare at?” 

And here they were, at the point that Sasha always managed to bring their conversations. (And the first boy that had popped into Rhys’s mind was _Vasquez_ and he immediately wanted to vomit everywhere. He hated Vasquez and his stupid, clicky pen). 

“No,” Rhys declared adamantly. 

“ _Nothing?_ ” Sasha asked. 

“Nope.” Rhys popped the ‘p’.

“Damn, your class must suck,” she sighed over the phone. 

“It does,” Rhys agreed. “But, I’ll be out of here soon enough.”

“Yeah, yeah, and working for Hyperion and Handsome Jack— we _know_ ,” and, oh boy, if Rhys knew where this was going now. “You know, I still don't understand why you’d want to work for that asshole. Did you hear about—”

_Yes_ , he’d heard. Handsome Jack had quite the reputation as CEO of Hyperion. The company had its fair share of secrets, but so did every other competing company out there. And while Handsome Jack had some less-than-ethical ways of getting things done, Rhys still admired the man. Hell, he was partly (mostly) the reason why Rhys had gotten his right arm back. 

“Yes, Sasha, I did,” Rhys rolled his eyes. “But you know why I’m doing this—”

“I know,” she droned on, extending the ‘know’ as she spoke. “I know.”

“Okay,” that seemed to be as far as both of them were willing to take the subject.

The two fell into an awkward silence (which was extremely rare for them). Rhys hated silence, it made him itchy (in the uncomfortable, stressful way). 

“I’m… gonna go.” He broke it, the silence. 

“Alright, Rhys,” she started, her demeanor going from ‘questioning-your-life-decisions’ (honestly, who wasn’t) to ‘can’t-wait-to-see-you’ in the span of seconds. “I’ll talk to you later. Don’t be a stranger! And don’t forget: Halloween. Costume.” 

“I _won’t_ ,” Rhys said, attempting to convey that he wouldn’t, in fact, forget Halloween (he definitely would, and would most likely be reminded two days before the party by Sasha and then forced to go late Halloween costume shopping, but he’d worry about that later). 

“Alright, I’m trusting you.”

(She shouldn’t have).

They said their goodbyes, and Rhys immediately crumpled on the disgusting couch that he _really_ wanted to replace (someday).

And while he had, literally, slept in, (he didn’t even mean to do it) the warmth of the disgusting couch coaxed him into a nap that he’d surely hate himself later for taking (he did). 

 

…

 

“Rhys.”

He was being shaken. There were two firm hands planted on his shoulders and his eyes flew open, his vision flooded with Yvette. 

Like, _a lot_ of Yvette because she was in his face, shaking him awake (and not gently).

_What time was it?_ Not that late, apparently, because the sun was still streaming in through the windows. 

“ _Rhys_.” She jolted him once more. 

“Alright,” Rhys shoved her away, because he was really not in the mood for being jabbed at. “I’m up— _I’m up_.”

Yvette, finally, backed off and threw herself besides Rhys’s previously sleeping form on their couch. 

Rhys was a little less than accommodating (he made a point to stretch out his long legs and shove them into Yvette’s lap, weird striped socks and all), seeing as Yvette had just needlessly woken him up from a well deserved nap (well, maybe Rhys hadn’t deserved it, but he had _needed_ it). 

“So,” Rhys started, poking his foot into Yvette’s ribs. “What gives?” 

Yvette laughed— _laughed_ , and Rhys’s face scrunched into a pout. And when she looked over and saw him, sitting at the other end of the couch pouting, she lost it all over again. 

“Alright, _crabby_ ,” Yvette hit at his calf. “I wouldn’t have woken you up if I’d known you’d have an attitude.”

“I don’t have an attitude!” Rhys countered, though very poorly because, yes, he had an attitude. She had just woken him up for no reason (yes, he had slept in and, yes, he didn’t have to have taken that nap, but _goddammit_ Rhys liked his sleep). 

Yvette just shot him an incredulous look, her expression just screaming: _‘I can’t believe you.’_

“Why’d you wake me up, anyway?” Rhys asked as evenly as possible, refusing to let Yvette believe that he ‘had an attitude’. 

“We didn’t get a chance to talk about your sugar daddy last night.” She wiggled her eyebrows, directing her gaze to Rhys and Rhys only (there was a reason he’d ran off to bed last night after getting back from the library— to avoid that conversation). 

“C’mon, Rhys,” Yvette begged, and it was an odd sight, seeing Yvette beg for something. “You promised.” 

_God_ , why was Rhys good at making promises he didn’t want to keep? First Halloween and now this, what would be next? Promising Vaughn that insanely expensive watch he wanted for Christmas? (Rhys hoped not, unless John was really rich— then, maybe, he’d consider it). 

“Fine,” Rhys huffed and rolled his eyes before wrestling his legs off Yvette’s lap as he sat up and stuffed his legs under him in a crisscross. “Uh, why do you even care? It’s not like he’s insanely interesting or anything.” 

Yvette mirrored Rhys, rolling her eyes and adjusting her seat on the couch. 

“Okay, first of all,” she started. “Who’s _‘he’?_ I don’t even know this guy’s name.” 

“It’s—”

“And, second of all,” Yvette cut him off. “Does it matter if he’s interesting? What matters is that he’s _rich_ , because then _you’ll_ be rich. And if you’re rich, Rhys, I’ll never have to buy lunch again.” 

Rhys rolled his eyes again, for the second time in the span of about a minute. He wouldn’t be able to keep it up (so much for ‘not having an attitude’). 

“Uh huh, okay,” Rhys droned on, nodding along blankly to Yvette’s assumptions (there were only so many free lunches Yvette could coax out of him— he’d be broke by the end of the year, sugar daddy or not, with the way Yvette ate). 

“I _care_ if he’s interesting,” Rhys countered, but Yvette just shook her head in disagreement. “And his name’s _John_ , by the way.”

“John,” Yvette spoke experimentally, testing the name out. She then shrugged. “I expected something more… lavious. Like Lorenzo or Fabio or—”

“Okay, _okay_ ,” Rhys interrupted, effectively shutting her up. “Sorry if I’m disappointing you.”

“So, he doesn’t have a unique name,” Yvette spoke as if she were crossing things off a mental checklist. “But is he hot?”

And there it was, the base of one of Rhys’s largest suspicions. The man didn’t have a profile picture, or any pictures. And yeah, it had set Rhys off. To be honest, Rhys wasn’t sure why the hell he had agreed to doing _anything_ with him. 

“I don’t know,” Rhys replied, simply. 

“You don’t know?” Yvette retorted, obviously (very) confused. 

“He doesn’t have a profile picture.” Rhys tried to say that as fast as possible, hoping that Yvette let it slide. 

She didn’t, of course, but at least he had tried. 

“So you don’t know what he looks like?”

Rhys nodded, hating the way Yvette was staring at him. Her expression was one of complete, utter disbelief, and definitely some form of: _what the hell are you doing?_

Rhys didn’t know. Still. His life was a never ending cycle of bad decisions and _’what the hells’._

“And his name’s John? Rhys, those are all _kinds_ of red flags.”

Rhys knew, and yet, there he was, jumping to John’s defense like he had known the man for years. 

“But he doesn’t seem like a _bad_ guy,” Rhys chuckled out, nervously, scratching at the back of his neck (but it was true, John didn’t seem like a bad dude). “I think I’d know if it was a scam.”

Okay, he probably wouldn’t. (He hoped he wasn’t being scammed). 

Yvette opened her mouth as if she had something else to say, but after looking at Rhys’s face (a look that was a combination of ‘I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it’ and ‘please-move-on’, aka _very_ pitiful), she dropped it. 

But Rhys knew that if he did get scammed, she’d never let him hear the end of it. 

“At least tell me he’s rich,” she asked, searching for _any_ reason she could to tell Rhys that what he was doing was a good idea. 

Rhys internally groaned. He hated playing twenty questions normally, but this was just so much worse. 

“I… don’t think you can just ask that—”

“Of course you can,” Yvette jostled him. “Isn’t that the whole point of a sugar daddy?”

“Well, he said he’d make it _worth my while_ —”

“Wait.”

If Yvette would just stop interrupting him, that would be great. 

“He’s going to make _what_ worth your while?” She asked, and Rhys was sure that Yvette’s eyebrows had found their way to her hairline and, _shit_ , he hadn’t told her about his and John’s arrangement. 

He knew he had forgotten something. The fact that that the something was actually a _really big deal_ wasn’t helping his case, either. 

Apparently, he’d taken too long to respond, because Yvette had hit him. Again. 

“Rhys!” 

“We… may or may not be meeting up next week,” Rhys choked out, all in one breath. He had no idea that saying it out loud would make it all the more real. Him, meeting a sugar daddy, for money. 

He’d be going from _potential_ sugar baby to _definitely_ a sugar baby. And, god, if it wasn’t like a slap in the face. 

“Oh my god,” Yvette said and Rhys could hear the disbelief in her voice. He was beyond grateful that Vaughn wasn’t back yet, because even though the two had come to some kind of terms, Rhys wasn’t sure how he’d handle the fact that Rhys was really, actually going through with it. 

“Oh my god,” she repeated. 

“Yeah,” was the only way Rhys could think to respond. 

“How much?”

And, of course, that was Yvette’s _first_ question. 

“I told you,” Rhys said. “He said he’d make it ‘worth my while’.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just some… work thing, I guess?” John hadn’t forwarded the rest of the details yet, so all Rhys knew was what John had originally described. “I don’t know, he’s sending me the details later.”

“Well,” Yvette started, growing uncomfortably somber for Rhys’s taste. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

There they were, those _promises_.

“Of course.”

And there Rhys went, making them (but it wasn’t like Rhys could say no to this one). 

“ _And_ that you’ll give me at least some of the money.”

“No,” At least Rhys didn’t make every promise he was asked to. “Get your own sugar daddy.” 

Yvette just laughed, and for a minute Rhys thought she was actually contemplating it (he wouldn’t put it past her). 

“Okay,” Rhys sighed, unfolding his legs from beneath him and willing himself away from the conversation before Yvette started asking him for sugar baby advice. “Good talk.” 

Yvette just rolled her eyes in response (and let him go, thank god), and tucked in her legs in order to leave room for Rhys to slide past her. 

“Yeah, alright,” Yvette said. “See you later, _sugar baby_.”

Yeah, he would not be getting used to that. Ever. 

Dragging himself back to his room, he was hit with the crushing reality that he had class tomorrow and since he had spent almost half the day sleeping it was _really_ time to get started on that homework due tomorrow. 

Really, robotics was an interesting class and all, but Rhys could definitely do without Nakayama’s lectures and Hugo Vasquez’s clicky pen and passive aggressive staring. 

But instead of grabbing his backpack and homework (like a good student, which Rhys wasn’t), he just threw himself on his bed, and pulled out his long forgotten phone. 

And— surprise, surprise. There was a message from John.

> **John:**  
>  _No._

What was it that Yvette had said? _Red flags?_

(He really hoped this wasn’t a scam).


End file.
